


The Ancestor Tree

by Lusty_Commissar



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Dominant female/submissive male, F/M, Impregnation, Interspecies, Only you can save my race from extinction, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusty_Commissar/pseuds/Lusty_Commissar
Summary: On an Exodite world whose male population was long ago wiped out by disease, a crashed Imperial pilot provides an unforeseen opportunity to ensure the long-term survival of the community.
Relationships: Original female eldar character/Original male character
Kudos: 29





	The Ancestor Tree

The crash of the mon’keigh spacecraft on Siyaanra left only one badly-wounded, unconscious survivor, the pilot—a young male with olive skin and dark hair. Most of the Exodite women who found his broken body were in favor of just cutting his throat. For one thing, for a mon’keigh to step foot on this forested maiden-world was punishable by death; for another, it seemed like the merciful thing to do, given the sorry state he was in. The only voice that rose in opposition was Yisrel’s, youngest of the Exodites of Siyaanra and the one most in touch with nature. The white-haired, violet-eyed girl believed that Octavian—the survivor’s name, according to his pilot’s uniform—could provide the key to the community’s survival in the wake of the plague that had taken away all of their menfolk, a century ago.

“The ancestor tree where we bury our dead absorbs not only their souls,” she argued, “but also their gene-seed. If we link this mon’keigh to the ancestor tree, the tree may make him capable of impregnating us. It’s a faint hope, but it’s worth a try.”

The others were skeptical, but a few helped Yisrel drag Octavian to the ancestor tree. The tree welcomed Octavian by driving its vines into his flesh and filling his veins with sap, beginning a symbiotic relationship that would last for millennia. For the next few days, the pilot lay in a semi-comatose state while the ancestor tree repaired his body. Yisrel spent most of her time with him. She kept him clean and often whispered in his ear to get him used to her presence and ensure he would not react with fear or hostility if or when he awoke. He fully came to his senses on the sixth night. Yisrel did not mate with him that night or the next, but spoke to him of her people’s history and struggles. She also listened to him as he confided how much he resented the Imperial military for taking him away from his homeworld and making him outlive his family by a century due to repeated Warp travels. Yisrel feigned sympathy but was secretly glad that Octavian had no more attachments to the world outside Siyaanra. It would make it easier for him to accept his new life.

On the third night since Octavian’s awakening, Yisrel leaned in for a kiss. He did not resist. He was clumsy at this; inexperienced despite being technically ancient by mon’keigh standards. His saliva tasted a bit like tree sap. Yisrel broke off the kiss to lick and bite his nipple, while he sucked on her pointy eartip. She moved downwards; brushing her nose against his heart, tonguing his navel, then closing her lips around the tip of his member. Despite the damage to his body, the important part of him still worked fine. Likely better than it should, in fact; the ancestor tree was lending its own vitality to the young mon’keigh.

Yisrel stripped off her clothes, straddled Octavian, wrapped her thin arms around his shoulders and lowered herself onto his erect penis. They kissed again, more passionately than before, their wet tongues intertwining. He licked the crook of her neck and bit softly into her small, firm breast, feeling her heartbeat under his teeth. She moved her hips up and down to drive him deeper inside her. She sighed and moaned. He had a lot of stamina in him. He was one with the tree now, and trees lived slower than animals—it may take most of the night to bring him to climax. Moths fluttered around the lovers, sometimes landing on their skin to feed on their salty sweat. Only around dawn did an exhausted Yisrel finally squeeze the seed out of Octavian.

“Do you think it’ll work?” asked the pilot, who sounded barely winded.

“No idea,” panted Yisrel. “Let’s try again tomorrow night.” She rested her head against his chest and drifted off to sleep, purring like a cat as he stroked her sensitive Aeldari ears.

_Six years later…_

For all her natural Aeldari agility, it was getting harder and harder for Yisrel to maneuver herself onto her lover’s lap to mate with him. Her belly was as large and round as a pumpkin, and she was barely five foot tall. She knew from the stirrings in her womb that she was expecting twins—a one-in-thousands occurrence among her race. Whether this was due to using a mon’keigh as a sire or to the generosity of the ancestor tree trying to help the Siyaanra Exodites replenish their numbers, none could say.

Octavian was certainly kept busy, for someone who sat at the base of a tree all day. Other Exodite women, after seeing how Yisrel’s belly was starting to swell, had begun to “milk” the mon’keigh for his seed as well—having to do so regularly, since the Aeldari race needed many impregnations over a long period to conceive and grow a child. Initial conflicts over pecking order had to be solved via strict scheduling; one night for each of the eleven mothers-to-be. Tonight was Yisrel’s night. She was Octavian’s first, and she knew she was and would always be his favorite.

He rested his hand on her sweaty, glistening belly as she rode him. “Have you settled on some names yet?”

“We’ll see if they’re boys or girls, first,” said Yisrel, nibbling his earlobe. “We don’t even know yet if they’ll share some of your genes. I hope one of them has your eyes. Grey eyes like yours aren’t common among my people.”

“Oh? Some of my genes may be in your children?”

“ _Our_ children, love,” she smiled sweetly. “And yes, it’s possible. The ancestor trees of Siyaanra work in mysterious ways. We’ll find out in a year or so. That’s when I’m due.”

“A year. Still a long time.”

“For a mon’keigh, yes, I’m sure. But you’ll see… in a few centuries, when you’ve fathered dozens of children, a year will feel much shorter.”

“A year… and your breasts are already full.” He thumbed at her dark nipple until her sweet, bluish Aeldari milk dribbled. “Feels like a waste.”

She grinned. “Aww. It doesn’t _have_ to go to waste, love. Are you thirsty?”

Yisrel pressed herself against Octavian to let him take her breast in his mouth. Crickets chirped. Fireflies flickered. A nocturnal bird hooted in the distance. Under the moonlight, the benevolent shadow of the ancestor tree loomed over all.


End file.
